Disgrace (13 page)

His eyes narrow but the stern expression is softened by his pursed lips. “I am happy to re-educate you, Sam, but please, do I really have to start from scratch?” I feel like an idiot but I am going to chalk that one up to being an
idiot
.

“Sir…sorry, I meant to say, yes Sir, or would you prefer Master?” I can’t help myself. I have been in charge for so long. This may feel right but I just can’t make it that easy. He barks out a laugh and his face lights up.

“Oh, baby girl, and there was me thinking we’d have to work up to using the gag.” He pulls a slim, dark silk tie from his back pocket. He’s like fucking a Boy Scout. I don’t get the chance to voice a word only a disgruntled squeak escapes when he takes advantage of the gap my dropped jaw has created from sheer surprise. Forget Boy Scout; he is more like a bondage ninja, quickly securing the tie, without pulling a single hair. He also rolls my tank top up and fashions a make shift blindfold now that the tie was needed elsewhere. Satisfied and smug don’t come close to describing the expression fixed across his handsome face just before my eyes are covered. A tiny piece of me wants to feel pissed at the speed with which he has secured me helpless, but a much larger part is comforted with the knowledge that, regardless of our relationship, he is a good Dom and knows exactly what he’s doing.

This feels right. No, this feels perfect. I trusted him with my truth, I trust him with my body, and that is enough. It has to be, because whores don’t get the happy ever after.

His weight shifts, and his breath kisses my cheek. “I prefer Sir, as you well know.”

I
never feel I have to prove myself. I never have to go searching for someone to play with. I am damn good at what I do, and I get a good deal of my pleasure from just knowing that there is always someone kneeling and waiting.

Until now.

Just looking at her drawing in slow, steady breaths and watching her pulse jump in her neck with excitement, maybe nerves, it’s like the ultimate high. I can’t explain it better than that. Nirvana. This stunning woman owns every room she chooses to enter, has more people than I care to think of wanting to serve her. To submit, worship and treat her like the queen she is and yet, here she is, trusting me,
submitting
to me. The pleasure I feel coursing through me is potent. I can’t help an underlying feeling starting to form and gain purchase deep inside me. If she is brave enough to switch, she
will
own me.

Her hands grip my thighs, and her white knuckles are evidence that she is feeling more nervous than excited. I know this isn’t going to be easy, but I want this so fucking much I’m willing to adapt and give her just what she needs. And right now, she needs to relax, have a little fun and enjoy the ride. I loosen the tie and remove the gag, but place it close by on the nightstand just in case.

“Put your hands above your head and hold the edge of the sofa.” She obeys me instantly, stretching her toned arms over her head. Her rib cage pushes her tits high like an offering. Her shallow pants make the soft flesh bounce, her hard, peaked nipples just begging for my mouth. I swallow the instant dryness and fight the urge to mould her in my eager hands. Instead, I adjust the painful erection that is causing absolute agony in my jeans. “I don’t want you to move. Do I make myself clear?” I expect her to hesitate, simply because taking orders is a new concept for her. She takes in every word, but with her eyes covered, and the gag in place, I know she can’t answer me with her voice. She gives a vigorous nod. Her skin flushes with desire, and her breathing becomes a little deeper. I place my hands on either side of her waist, and she sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t otherwise move. God, she’s amazing…she feels alive under my fingertips, raw energy pulsing through my fingertips, contained and explosive at the same time.

I drag my hands down her body peeling her pyjama bottoms all the way down her long, slender legs. I work my way off the end of the sofa and just gaze at my prize.

Fucking jackpot.

The room is warm, but her body is peppered with gooseflesh, and she begins to tremble. I don’t move. The only sound is my steady breathing and her rapid pants. Time slows, and I watch for the moment when her lips tip at the corners, her face softens, and her frame relaxes.

I’m impressed. Her understanding of my intention took barely ten minutes. “Good girl.” I encourage. Her smile widens as does mine. Success, her first real test was for her to simply relax and accept. Her second was to take pleasure from my pleasure which, by the spread of her smile, I would say is another win. I walk around and loosen the tie and remove the gag. She turns her head toward me but immediately rectifies her error, snapping quickly back into place. I stroke her cheek with my finger and playfully tap her nose. “Present yourself,” I command but keep my tone soft. She hesitates again, and I know it’s not because she is unclear about what I am asking. “Tell me,
Selina,
when you give a command how long do you expect to wait before you are obeyed?” She lets out a light laugh and starts to draw her knees to her chest. I tap her knee and push her leg flat. “Nah ah. And tell me,
Selina,
when you ask a question does it amuse you to be ignored?” My voice is thick and gravely, the humour and playfulness dwindling with each passing second. She answers instantly this time.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I expect them to answer immediately; I demand they obey instantly.” Her left cheek has a slight dip where she is either sucking it in or chewing on the inside.

“And do you think I deserve any less respect than you?” My tone is softer to compensate for her obvious agitation.

“No, Sir, not at all, I just—” Her voice catches and I stroke her cheek to soothe her concern.

“I know…shhh…I know, beautiful. Let’s try that again, shall we?” I stretch my neck to release the tension, but it doesn’t pop. All my tension is further south. “Present yourself.” I choke back a cough when she pulls her knees to her chest, spreads and holds them wide with her fingertips. My ‘good girl’ praise comes out more like a strained groan. She bites back a smile but sucks in a sharp breath when she feels the sofa dip and I take up the best position in the world. Inches away from her… wide, wet and open. “Pick a number between one and twenty.”

“Three.” She shouts out instantly but drags her top teeth over her bottom lip to suppress her smile.

“Chicken.” I rumble out a deep laugh. Whether it’s too much pleasure or too much pain she’s clearly not feeling
that
brave. “Very well. I will bring you to three orgasms.” She opens her mouth to speak but wisely thinks better of it. But I am intrigued enough to ask her thoughts. Normally, I wouldn’t tolerate chitchat or questions that weren’t solicited or at least about safety. But nothing about this…us, is
normal
. “You wish to say something, beautiful?” Her smile spreads so wide when I call her that, I intend to use the moniker often. She shakes her head in denial, but I know she does. “You can speak. In fact, your reticence just means I want you to tell me now.”

“You’re being sweet.” Her response is brief but instant.

“Hmm, I said I would bring you three orgasms. I never said I would let you
have
three orgasms.” I cover her body with my frame holding myself above, just an inch or two. Heat and fire jumps between our bodies, and I lean down to whisper across her lips. “Will you still think I’m sweet when I deny you all three?”

“No, Sir.” She exhales a shaky breath as I pull back onto my haunches. Her mouth parts, and I place my two middle fingers on her lips. Her tongue darts out, a quick inspection before retreating.

“Open your mouth. Make my fingers wet.” I slip them inside, and can’t help the groan that escapes the back of my throat when she wraps her hot tongue around my digits, twisting and pulling them deeper into her mouth. When I pull them free, my cock twitches painfully like a fucking jealous bitch, and all I can do is endure. Agony and blue balls will have to wait. My focus is her…re-educating Selina and seducing Sam. I drag my wet fingers lightly down the centre of her body. Skimming the indent in her collarbone and the swell and dip between her breasts. I lightly touch her belly button, which makes her catch her breath but she lets out a much deeper exhale when I slide once more inside her heat. I waste no time following my fingers with my mouth. My tongue swirls her clit, flicking lightly, at the same time, curling my fingers deep and stroking the soft flesh inside. She instantly tenses, but then she’s already soaking from having my fingers inside her before so I’m not really surprised she’s taut and just about ready to explode. I soften the movement of my fingers. I don’t want her climbing too quickly, but I don’t want her crashing over the edge, either. It’s all about balance.

She holds remarkably still because I know from the short, panting breaths and her little angry sighs she is frustrated as hell. I sweep my tongue flat with firm pressure from the tip of her nub of nerves to where my fingers sink into her soft centre. She’s so damn wet, and I can’t get enough of her taste. My lips cover her, and I suck and mouth, pulling her folds gently between my lips, grazing her clit with my teeth and pump harder with my fingers, building her pleasure, teasing her higher and higher. Her muscles twitch against my fingers, her tummy clenches with the need to roll her hips against my hand. At the first tilt of her pelvis, I relax and pull away.

The little heartfelt cry that escapes the back of her throat almost has me helping her out, but I wouldn’t want her thinking I’m
sweet
. Her jaw is clenched and her fists, resting on her knees are curled, white-knuckle tight. Her sweet little body is resisting the inevitable loss of her climax with tiny judders and spasms. I blow cool air on her core and she nearly kicks me in the head with her convulsion, throwing her bent legs out straight. I duck quickly enough but pull them flat to either side of me for safety.

I scooch down for round two. I deliberately take a little longer this time, pausing almost every minute because I can feel her instant response to every touch, every swirl of my tongue, even the warm air I puff from my nose has her climbing. She fails to hold back her cry this time, and I am glad she can’t see my shit-eating grin because that would probably make her mad.

She’s strong and sassy, bright and resourceful, every inch a first class Domme, and the last thing I want is to make her mad. I want her pliant, agreeable, but more than my next breath, I want her as my sub.

She attempts to control her breathing, and I give her a little time to recover. My hands sweep up her legs, along her sides, over the perfect swell of her breasts, skimming her skin with feather-light touches, trying to cool the searing heat that is colouring her flawless skin. She’s on fire, and her body continues to tremble with pent up pleasure.

“How you doing, beautiful?” I watch her nod her head but squeeze her lips flat, biting back any chance of sound. “I asked you a question, Sam.” My tone has a bite, which instantly grounds her and reminds her of her job.

“I’m good, thank you, Sir.” She swallows thickly and once more bites her lips flat.

“Only good?” I strum my fingers idly on the inside of her thigh.

“I’m very…frustrated, Sir.”

“I’ll bet. Still think I’m sweet?” She snorts out an uncontrollable laugh, and it’s my turn to bite my lips to stop myself from laughing. She is trying so hard, and her lapses, instead of requiring a punishable intervention for breaking protocol, I find adorable.

“Sorry Sir, forgive me. I don’t find you sweet…well, I do, but not right now.” She rushes to make amends and clarify.

“Is that so?” I trace my tongue up her inner thigh along the crease where the top of her leg meets her apex. I sweep my tongue up her centre and swirl in little circles over her clit. The tiny patch of hair, waxed with precision into a narrow landing strip hides a puzzle piece tattoo. I hadn’t noticed before but I am guessing that is the point.
Interesting
. I pause for a moment tracing my finger over the ink, not much bigger than my thumb and almost entirely covered by the hair. I’m distracted enough to realise she hasn’t answered my question. She’s holding her breath, feeling my gaze and the weight of my own unasked question. But it would be unfair to ask her now. Now she
has
to answer me. She’s trusted me enough to open up about her past; I want to give her the choice to open up some more.